Fanciable
by Wohitzi
Summary: Ron is suffering from cripplingly low self-esteem. Hermione takes it upon herself to talk some sense into him.


The corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were almost entirely deserted, as was expected at ten o'clock at night. Among the few students out of bed (the majority of which were giggling couples sneaking off to empty classrooms or the Astronomy Tower) were Ron and Hermione, their Prefect badges gleaming proudly in the torchlight as they patrolled.

They were unusually quiet, a fact that Hermione found rather unnerving. It was very rare that they couldn't find something to talk about or at least bicker over. Being friends since first year and going through so many insane, life endangering scenarios together generally meant that no topic was off-limits with them. Lately, conversations drifted towards Harry's obsession with catching Malfoy in the act of something Death Eater-y or his obsession with the Half-Blood Prince, or Ron's magnificent gift for neglecting homework until the very last minute. Honestly, did he learn nothing after the nightmare that was O.?

Tonight, however, was quiet. Hermione had a feeling she knew why, though for once she was wary to broach the topic. Ron had been more snappish than usual the past week and she wasn't in the mood for a full on row right before bed.

Still. Something had to be done – a quiet Ron was unnatural. If he didn't blow up at her, he would blow up at someone else.

"Ron," she began tentatively, watching as he poked his head into a classroom. It must have been empty, for he turned to her wordlessly soon after, expression stony. "I was talking to Ginny earlier and . . . I think I know why you're upset."

"Really?" he said with raised eyebrows and crossed arms. "Do tell."

Biting back a sigh at his attitude, she paused a moment to choose her words carefully. "She . . . . She told me that the two of you had a fight the other day. About Dean?"

Expression turning sour, he said, "Yeah. What did she tell you about it?"

". . . Everything."

"Wonderful," he grumbled angrily, though his reddening ears betrayed his embarrassment. "So does the whole school know I haven't been kissed now?"

"Ron, honestly – you're sister isn't a gossip, you know that. I had to force her to tell me what happened – "

"Why do you care?" he snapped, hands balling into fists and falling to his sides. "Doesn't make a difference to you what I do so long as it doesn't interfere with homework."

"_Ron_! That's utter nonsense and you know it! I'm your friend; of course I care what you do!"

He snorted disbelievingly, glaring somewhere near her left foot. Redness had blossomed across his cheeks now, too, and for all his height and broadening shoulders he looked like a petulant toddler ashamed at being caught in a lie.

Before she could think of something to say to diffuse the anger rising between them, footsteps echoed from around the corner. Both teens turned toward the sound and saw the elongated shadows of Filch and Mrs. Norris spilling across the wall.

"Students out of bed, I'll catch them this time, yes," Filch murmured gleefully as he rounded the corner, holding a lantern aloft.

"Hello, Flich," Hermione greeted. His eyes darted toward her face, then to the gleaming Prefect's badge pinned to her robes. "We're just doing the patrol, no need to worry."

Filch's expression darkened as he turned away, grumbling. Mrs. Norris paused only to hiss at them disapprovingly before following her master. For a moment, Ron and Hermione remained silently rooted to the spot, watching shadows of the janitor and his cat shrink on the wall. Finally, Hermione sighed and turned to continue down the hall, saying that they should finish their patrol.

Five classrooms later, she found the nerve to speak up again. "I know you've been having trouble with practice as well."

"Great – did Ginny tell you embarrassing childhood stories as well, or is she sticking to current events?"

"No," Hermione said, struggling to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "Actually, I was able to figure that much out myself. I see how moody you are after practices."

Scowling down at his shoes as they walked, Ron grumbled something unintelligible.

"Really, it's nothing to be ashamed of – you just have performance anxiety. Lots of people get it."

"Harry doesn't. Ginny doesn't. My brothers didn't."

Studying his frustrated expression out of the corner of her eye, Hermione bit her lip. She hated seeing him like this, so full of self-doubt and self-loathing. Was it really so hard for him to see how wonderful he could be? That it didn't matter if he did things as well as or better than his siblings because he still did them and he was Ron and he was loved all the same?

But that was the problem, wasn't it? He couldn't see because he was so used to being cast in the shadows. When the spotlight finally fell on him, he was blinded and disoriented – like a deer in headlights, to borrow a Muggle phrase.

"Actually, I think that's why you have such a problem; you're so used to being overshadowed by your siblings and your best friend that you feel pressure to prove yourself when the attention finally shifts your way."

"Two friends."

"What?"

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, staring straight ahead so she couldn't catch his eye. "I'm in the shadows of my _two_ best friends. Harry is 'The Chosen One' and you're the most brilliant witch Hogwarts has ever seen, probably." There wasn't a trace of bitterness in his tone, and when he glanced toward her he flashed a small but genuine smile. "That's what I am. I'm Ron-with-the-amazing-siblings or Ron-the-best-mate-of-the-Chosen-One or Ron-the-best-mate-of-the-genius. That's how everyone sees me."

Feeling her cheeks grow warm at his praise, Hermione stumbled over her next words: "Oh, well, Ron that's . . . . I'm sure that's . . . . Not _everyone_ sees you that way."

"_Rea_lly? Name someone."

"Me."

His blue eyes darted toward her, surprise overtaking his features.

"I . . . . I don't see you that way at all. To me you're Ron-the-brilliant-chess-player and Ron-the-boy-who-makes-me-laugh-like-no-one-else and Ron-the-bravest-and-most-loyal-friend."

He gave a snort of laughter at the last bit. "I know I'm a Gryffindor and all, but I'd hardly say I'm the bravest or loyal-est. I completely ditched Harry in fourth year, remember?"

"You got into a silly row with him, yes, but you've always stuck by him when it counted. Remember third year? You stood up to Sirius Black to protect Harry! On a broken leg, no less! "

A faint pink spread across his ears and freckled cheeks. Rubbing the back of his neck, which Hermione suspected had also grown hot, he said, "Yeah, but Sirius was harmless. . . ."

"But you didn't know that!" Hermione cried in exasperation, earning a grunt of disapproval from one of the portraits. In a more subdued tone, she continued, "We were all convinced Sirius was a murderer, but you didn't hesitate to protect Harry. Very few people would risk their neck like that. But you always do – it's amazing."

" . . . You think so?" he asked, cheeks positively glowing as he smiled crookedly.

"Definitely. _And_ I know you're a truly brilliant Quidditch player, _and_ I know you don't need to worry about girls fancying you."

As soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, Hermione wished she had a Time Turner. Honestly, could she be any more obvious? She might as well send him a singing love letter.

Ron had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her in such utter shock it would have almost been laughable if he weren't so adorable and she weren't so humiliated. "Wha–?"

"I hear Pavarti and Lavender gossiping all the time," she explained hurriedly, wondering is he noticed her rising blush. "Apparently last year's Quidditch victory and your involvement at the Department of Mysteries has made you quite desirable."

'_Not to mention how you've grown over the summer_,' she thought but didn't dare so aloud. Her gaze shifted automatically to his arms, which had become considerably more toned and helped to dispel the illusion that someone had cast a Stretching Charm on him. What would it feel like to have those arms wrapped around her . . .?

Shaking herself free from this dangerous train of thought, Hermione concluded, "They're sure to fancy you even more after this upcoming Quidditch match."

"Only if I don't completely screw up."

"You will if you keep thinking that way!" she snapped, earning more grumbling from the portraits. Hands on her hips, she continued in a lower voice, "Honestly, Ron – I saw you playing over the summer. You're very good!"

His brow furrowed in that familiar expression of confusion she had always found strangely endearing. "But you always stayed in Ginny's room to study."

"She has a window."

"Oh. Right."

They lapsed into silence. Hands burrowed deep in his pockets, Ron studied the stone floor thoughtfully. Hermione seized his moment of distraction to admire how his hair glowed in the torchlight. His hair had always been striking, but it was especially so in the light of the sun or flames. It hardly ever seemed to be combed, making it nearly as untidy as Harry's, but it looked so soft and lovely. She had always wanted to touch it . . .

"So," he started, pulling her out of a rather embarrassing daydream, "you think there are girls who . . . who fancy me? That don't mind if I've never, you know . . . kissed?"

"Of course! Ron, honestly, why wouldn't –"

"Excuse me!" cried the portrait of a well-aged warlock. "Some of us are trying to sleep, but the pair of you are making it quite impossible with all your ruckus!"

"Oh, yes, sorry – we'll go now," Hermione sputtered, grabbing Ron's elbow and guiding him away from the disgruntled painting. Checking her watch she let out a small gasp. "Goodness, it is rather late! Perhaps we should just head back to the common room. Professor McGonagall wouldn't like leaving our patrol unfinished but –"

"But she doesn't have to know," Ron finished, quickening his pace. "C'mon, Harry might still be awake. Reckon he'd be up for a quick game of chess?"

Watching him hurry on ahead, Hermione couldn't help noticing an almost jovial spring in his step. Shaking her head with a smile, she lengthened her stride to keep up.

It seemed something she said had finally made it through that thick skull of his.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: <em>Another bored-at-work fanfic. Pretty much just some Ron-appreciation fluff - I feel like he gets the short end of the stick far too often (particularly in the movies). Hope you enjoyed it!<em>

**Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all of its contents are property of J. K. Rowling, who I am in no way associated with. **


End file.
